From Ashes
by Alcyone Fletcher
Summary: Erik and Christine's paths cross again, after a disaster has left Christine damaged and permanently changed. Both memory and forgetful oblivion now hinder them. Eventual EC.
1. Emptiness

_A/N: Yes, another E/C, post-PoTO, slightly AU. It's definitely been done before; I hope to put a bit of an original twist to it, though! Constructive criticism—and reviews in general—are greatly appreciated. Flames will be sent to Nadir's fireplace. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing—everything in Phantom of the Opera belongs to Leroux, Kay, and Webber. (This fanfic, incidentally, is based on both the musical and the 2004 film.)  
(Edit: may also have elements from the books.)_

-1-

Erik sat motionless, staring into the dark water. Only a hint of moonlight, creeping in from a crevice above him somewhere, illuminated its surface, which undulated as it scattered pale, distorted reflections of the light. Any more light would have been intolerable; it would have merely served to display the half-destroyed wreck his lair was now. Everything in it pained him, reminded him of Christine—better not to see it at all.

It had been months since he had burned down the Opera Populaire. Months since Christine had rejected him. The pain, however, had not lessened. It had increased, rather—increased relentlessly with the passing of each day. He had learned to partially numb himself now. He had done it in the past, and he was grateful of this feeling of desensitization, temporary though it was.

As he suddenly came to himself, he realized that it was very cold. He could not remember how long he had sat there. By now, he must have gotten quite filthy. His stomach ached from emptiness.

Not for the first time, he wondered why he even allowed himself to stay alive. Indeed, he barely could call himself alive; he rarely ate, spent most of his time either in a half-conscious state or at his organ, and almost never bothered to involve himself in any way with the outside world. For all the world knew, he truly was dead. Something, however, drove him to live on. Pride? At that, he smiled bitterly. A ruined, broken Phantom, still driven on by pride; the thought was amusingly absurd. Yes, maybe pride—and something else as well, perhaps.

He stared up at the darkened ceiling. Another reminder of Christine was entering his life; the reconstruction of the Opera Populaire had begun. Fools. They never did learn.

And yet—what would motivate him now to haunt the opera house again? Nothing. He knew that he was only a husk of what he once was. A husk which would eventually shrivel up in entirety and disappear. Erik abruptly stood up, disgusted with himself.

The organ once more screamed despair and rage.

- -

"Christine."

She blinked and rolled over. A sharp, unpleasant smell seemed to waft around her. She grimaced and burrowed deeper beneath the covers.

"Christine! Wake up!"

She started awake to find Raoul standing beside her, still looking bleary and rather disheveled.

" . . . Raoul?"

"We need to get out of here, now."

Christine looked at him, confused. "Why?"

"Can't you smell it? Now hurry!"

Smoke. That was what she had smelled. Christine scrambled out of bed, blinking rapidly. "Raoul—"

"No time, Christine." He grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the room. They raced through the corridors, dodging the panicking servants who were also looking for a way to escape. Christine could tell through the sounds that the fire was spreading quickly. Raoul led the way to the main entrance hall, and then stopped dead for a moment. The fire had already come here; the heat suddenly grew unbearable, and black smoke rushed out to meet them.

"The door in the servants' quarters," Christine yelled. Raoul nodded, and they hurried back through the hallways. Smoke began to fill the hallway, swirling around them. Small flames peered out through cracks in the doors.

They finally reached the servants' quarters and started looking for the door. The smoke and heat were intensifying. Christine groaned and threw off the robe she wore over her nightclothes. As they looked, they bent their bodies down as low as they could to avoid choking, and soon had to drop to their hands and knees. Christine felt a familiar sort of terror—the sort she had felt as she had watched the Opera Populaire burn down. She shivered despite the intense heat.

After what seemed like an eternity of searching, Christine heard Raoul give an abrupt shout. "There! I found it . . . I found the knob." Christine looked up at Raoul, and from the corner of her eye, she glimpsed something dark descending toward them through the haze. A large beam . . . she cried out a warning as she tried to shove Raoul out of the way. The next moment, searing pain ripped through her head, and she felt her consciousness slip away.


	2. Then My World was Shattered

_A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews. ) And here's chapter 2! _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

-2-

_Flames._

_They leaped up, licked the sky. A deafening roar reverberated through the street as a section of the ornately carved roof collapsed. The dust from the disintegrating architecture swirled up, combined with the flying sparks. The Opera Populaire was burning. Christine felt the heat of the fire on her skin but did not move; her eyes were transfixed on the horrible sight. _

_She thought she heard Raoul call, and against her will, tore her gaze away from the fire. She turned around, but did not see him. Or anyone else, for that matter. It occurred to her all of a sudden that she was alone. _

_With great effort, she began to walk away from the fire. Why was the street empty? There had to be someone . . . _

_Where was Raoul?_

"_Raoul?"_

_The roar of the fire behind her grew deafening. She whipped her head around, just in time to see the great, monstrous flames jump forward to greet her._

"_Raoul!"_

‡

Her eyes snapped open.

Meg was bending over her. Her clouded expression immediately cleared. "Christine! You're awake!"

" . . . yes." Christine swiped at the cold beads of sweat that dotted her face and struggled to sit up. Pain throbbed in her head, and she quickly lay down again. She looked around. She was apparently lying in a bed in the Girys' house. Had she gotten injured somehow? "Please remind me, Meg. What happened?" Her voice was so hoarse that she barely recognized it to be her own.

Meg's blue eyes grew troubled again. "You don't remember? There was a fire at your mansion—"

"Oh, yes. I remember that." Christine frowned as she remembered that night. "Is Raoul hurt? What exactly happened?"

Meg paused for a moment. "I'm not really sure. The doctors are still tending him. I'm sure he'll be fine, though." She smiled reassuringly. "Anyway, what happened is that you were hit by a falling beam. You got burned pretty badly. Mother and I thought you weren't going to make it, but the doctors did a wonderful job!" They even got your face to heal up . . . well . . . mostly . . . " Meg suddenly gave a short, nervous laugh and began to talk faster. "I'm so glad you're feeling better now! I'll go tell Mother and we can—"

"My face?" Christine interrupted.

Meg fidgeted. "Well. It kind of got scratched up a little."

_Kind of got scratched up?_ "Can you get me a mirror?"

"Christine, I really think you should rest some more."

"Don't worry, Meg. I'll be able to handle it."

"Christine—"

"Mirror."

Sighing, Meg fetched a mirror from a table in the center of the room and handed it to her. Christine took a deep breath and peered into it. Reddened burns marred her face. They were half-healed, and would no doubt become less conspicuous soon. But the gash . . . the gash ran across her face from her forehead to her right cheek. The beam had cut deeply.

Christine flung the mirror down on the bed with a hopeless groan. Meg quietly returned it to the table.

After a while, Christine spoke again. "I need to see Raoul." Ignoring the pain that lanced through her body, she sat up and stepped down to the floor. Her legs gave way under her and she collapsed, but she managed to stagger to her feet somehow. Meg grabbed her shoulders, her eyes wide. "Christine, no. Sleep."

"Let me see Raoul, please." She flung off Meg's hands and limped toward the doorway. She opened the door and looked out into the corridor, leaning heavily on the wall. "Where is he?"

Meg sighed once more and took Christine's arm. "I'll show you."

They slowly and carefully made their way down the hallway toward the door at the end. As Meg reached out toward the doorknob, the door swung open, and a physician stepped out. He stared at Christine briefly, and a pained expression flitted across his face. He quickly bowed and hurried down the stairs. Christine glanced at Meg, but Meg did not look at her.

Christine entered, and Raoul weakly turned toward her. Madame Giry stood up, alarmed.

Christine could immediately tell that Raoul had not fared much better than she had—if not worse . . .

_He's dying_; the thought struck her, but she forced a smile. "Raoul?"

He smiled and reached out to take her hand. "Christine, I love you . . . " She met his gaze and silently clutched his hand.

And then Raoul's eyes closed, and he was perfectly still. His hand grew limp and dropped hers.

Christine did not understand what happened after that. She thought she saw Meg cry, and thought she heard Madame Giry speak to her. She remembered burning tears roll down her face. She saw the floor rush up at her, and she felt her head throb again. She remembered standing in a beautiful garden, in front of a gravestone, and she thought she felt a horrible sense of sorrow.

‡

Then, she had awoken on a couch in a house she did not recognize. She had not recognized its occupants either—a rather aged but elegant woman, and a young blonde girl. They seemed to know her and had called her Christine.

Christine did not remember why she was here, or why her face was disfigured.

But in the midst of her confusion, one thing somehow seemed clearer than anything else to her, and seemed to hold something understandable. Perhaps it held her memories as well. It was the halfway constructed opera house across the street.

And that night, when both the woman and the girl were asleep, she pulled on her cloak and ventured out to visit the opera house.


	3. Wandering Child

_A/N: Chapter three! Also replying to reviews… just because. :) And one more thing: I know I said this was going to be movie & musical-based, but at this point, it looks like I might be incorporating things from the books as well._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. As this applies to the whole fanfic, this is the last time I'm repeating it!_

**- 3 -**

Christine stood wrapped in her cloak, gazing at the partially formed skeleton of a building. The whitish, long timber truly did resemble bones. A wooden sign stuck in the ground nearby bore the words "L'Opéra Populaire." The ink looked fairly fresh.

Christine had no memory of this place, but for reasons she could not comprehend, it beckoned to her irresistibly. She shifted, frustrated. She knew she must have known this place before. What other memories had disappeared?

She turned her face upwards. Clouds had shrouded the moon, which only moments before had lit the architecture so brightly. Sparse snowflakes began to float down, some lightly touching her face before melting into cool drops of water. She wiped them away from around her eyes and walked toward the maze of wooden beams and supports.

An entryway seemed to be in the works, preceded by a few ascending steps, but she passed it by and decided to walk around the building. It was not what was inside the entrance that intrigued her. It was something else.

Halfway around the construction, in the shadow of another building in the alley, she found what she knew she had been looking for. A grate was set into the ground here; it looked heavy, but Christine knew it was light enough for her to lift. She quickly looked both ways and bent down to grasp the grate with both of her hands. It was icy to her touch, and flakes of rust peeled off where she touched it. It had apparently not been handled for quite a while—but why should it have been?

She braced as she pulled at the grate. It came free with a small creak. Christine looked dubiously into the darkness beneath her before gripping the edge firmly and lowering herself inside. Her feet met a solid surface when the opening of the sewers was at the level of her shoulders. The ground was damp and cold to her bare feet; she involuntarily curled her toes. Replacing the grate above her head, Christine sat down. Where to next?

Feeling the wall with her right hand, she began to crawl forward. It was dark, and the faint lamplight filtering in through the grate did little to light her way.

As she inched forward, Christine's hand all of a sudden met empty space instead of stone. She lost her balance and tumbled down a steep flight of steps, only barely managing to bite back a shriek.

‡

Sometime before dawn, Meg awoke. It was snowing; she noted that it was the first snowfall of the reason. She stared at the thin white layer blanketing the streets and roofs of the city for a while and smiled, letting her head fall back on the pillow. She then cast a glance at Christine's bed, and her smile faded. The bed was empty.

‡

Christine was lost. She had lost track of how long she had wandered through the tunnels. Her panic was steadily rising, try as she might to keep it in check.

And what—what was it that she had just heard? The clank of metal, and footsteps. A breath of moving air brushed her cheeks. She broke into a run.

She dashed blindly through more corridors, down a flight of stairs, and then—

And then she took another step and found herself ankle-deep in water. She jerked back with a gasp. She could not possibly swim in this condition. The exertion was already proving too much for her, and the burns on her skin smarted. She took another corridor, which turned out to be even longer than she expected.

Then the echo of her footsteps changed, indicating that she had entered a chamber of some sort. Her hands outstretched in front of her, she moved forward.

Her foot caught an object on the floor and knocked it over. She winced at the clatter it made, and then jumped as it played faint, sparse musical notes before resuming silence. It was a music box.

A few more steps later, her hand met a wooden object. She slid her hands over it and discovered it to be a desk. Whoever the occupant of this place was, he was certainly messy. She felt pieces of paper scattered all over the surface of the desk, along with odds and ends she could not identify by touch. One object she felt, however, caught her attention. Picking the small box up, she gingerly slid it open and felt the contents. She nodded in satisfaction; the box held matches.

Christine struck the match against the side of the box and held the flame up, blinking at the bright light that suddenly pierced her dark-accustomed eyes. What she saw stunned her.

She was standing in a room cut off by water on one side. There were mirrors all over the room, all of them shattered. Clothes, among other unidentifiable pieces of cloth, were strewn on the floor; numerous candles lined the wall or stood in delicately carved candelabra. The items on the desk also caught her eye. A seal bearing the emblem of a skull, an overturned inkpot, sheets of paper with music scrawled recklessly over them, tiny sculptures, some of them broken . . . a chill ran down her back.

The most conspicuous feature of this room, however, was the impressive organ. Christine crossed the room toward the organ, and with her match, lit the candles positioned on it.

The scene of destruction about her began to sink in, and a wave of grief hit her along with a vague sense of fear. What was this place? The entire room spoke of destroyed beauty, of despair, of loss. A tear splashed down on her foot. She started and came to herself. She was quite the child tonight—and a silly child, at that.

Which was not surprising, considering she had been mad enough to venture underground in the first place. She shook her head self-deprecatingly and turned her attention back to her surroundings.

Her gaze wandered to one of the less damaged mirrors near her. Out of her scarred face, seemingly innocent brown eyes stared back. Christine stared for a moment longer and then pulled her hood over her face—as much to escape the eyes as well as to conceal the hideous gash. She almost felt like she did not know the woman who looked back at her.

Letting out a sigh, Christine picked up one of the candles and looked into the next room. This room contained a bed, its iron frame beautifully shaped like a swan. Black curtains were draped about it, and through them she could glimpse the bed's crimson interior. The room itself was furnished elegantly, but had fared only a little better than the first room.

Without warning, the candle in her hand went out.

A moment later, the other candles on the organ followed suit, and Christine once more found herself in utter darkness.

Her panic returned, and she dropped her candle and ran in the direction she thought she had come from. It was too late; her waist was grabbed from behind, and a cold hand covered her mouth. She struggled wildly to escape and finally succeeded. The next moment, she felt something whistle through the air toward her, and instinctively flung her arm out. The rope coiled around her hand and she grasped it, pulling it taut. Her heart beat wildly as she strained her eyes vainly, hoping to see who it was that held the other end.

He spoke first, in a snarling hiss. "What do you want?"

--

_A/N:_

_mcekul: Yep, I'm working on the chapter lengths . . . I'll try to make them longer. Also, hi again. I recognize you. :) Yeah, Christine's life is definitely looking depressing at the moment . . . _

_Genevieve Lee: Ah, sorry it was confusing. It seems Christine was so traumatized that she lost her memory of recent events. Poor Christine._

_Mini Nicka: Thanks! I'm glad you find it interesting!_

_GeekandaHalf: Good to hear that. :) Aaaand here's another update._

_Catoftheopera: Thankies. I might not be able to post new chapters on weekends, but otherwise I'll certainly try to stay consistent about posting new chapters!_

_Reviews greatly appreciated:D_


End file.
